Santa has a very special gift to give--
There is no innocence, not for long;
It dies when the gates of the senses open;
Dreams are stars, they are not countries;
The rainbow always dies in the sun.
Sweep out the doors of perception--
As the cobwebs go flying, you still see the Infinite--
But from within, not from without.
Mount Holofernes' head above your front door
And stand on the Rock, looking up at the Tree.
Darwin holds the Scales; life's light as a feather.
Where are there heroes except in your soul?
© 2003 by Mark Andrew Holmes.
For endnotes to this poem, click here.